Early Years:

In Dublin, during the warm summer of the 1995, Siobhán McDowd held her newborn son in her bruised arms. “Cillian” she whispered in a voice that trembled in joy. Growing up, Cillian was known as troublemaker, spending most of his time in school in the principals office, on the days he was even in attendance that is. Cillian was close to his mother, after escaping his abusive father the two of them got by alright, poor as dirt, but alright nonetheless. For 14 years they were right as rain, but when his mother got sick Cillian knew that wouldn’t last. Passing a week after his 15th birthday Cillian lost everything. Foster care became his hell, the repeated rejection of each family hardened the young man, turning him bitter. Sneaking out of the foster home, stealing and fighting became two of Cillian’s favourite pastimes. When the opportunity presented itself Cillian threw in with a gang known as The Bishops, and they lived life stealing whatever, fighting whoever and living wherever they wanted.

Before the Fall:

The Bishops lived on the streets, creating havoc for the locals and the police alike. They were lead by the old timer Sean, former IRA gunman. Cillian was considered the gangs enforcer, collecting debts and teaching respect. He became obsessed with what he deemed the natural order, survival of the fittest. Now a strong 26, he paid no heed to the virus spreading for the past 2 years. Enjoying his anarchic life with his brothers in crime. That is until the day the dead walked.

The Fall:

The Bishops were staying in an abandoned rail house sitting around and talking shit as usual, they had barely noticed the corpse walking in until it bit a chunk out of Sean’s shoulder. It didn’t take long then, maybe a few hours, until Cillian was running through the streets in a panic, his now deceased gang and the general public chasing him as he bolted for the nearest shelter. Weeks later, stuck in a bathroom with no escape in sight, he prepared to join his mother. That is until the window opened and a friendly arm projected itself through the opening, practically pulling Cillian through the gap, the two ran through the alleys until they reached a factory a few blocks down the road, the doors were closed behind the pair and they caught respite. The man introduced himself as Fionn McLaughlin, he called the compound The Liffey Quays.

The Quays:

What before was just an industrial district on the north quays of Dublin city, had been transformed by Fionn into a safe haven for the helpless and hopeful. His right hand man, an american by the name of Charlie Hughes, was the pillar of the community. A kind hearted soul but not one to be trifled with. During his stay with the settlement they developed an uneasy partnership and worked together on many jobs and supply runs. Cillian blended in to serve his own needs and could often be found smuggling contraband into the compound in exchange for favours from its inhabitants.

The War:

Cillian rose up the ranks over the passing months and became Fionn’s enforcer. It was Cillians job to enforce the laws of the settlement and to lead their forces in defense against The Reapers.
The Reapers were a slavic group ranging from Chernarussian to Polish, and they were operating out of the GPO, which they had heavily fortified. The Quays and The Reapers fought in the streets to try and claim Dublin as their own. Cillian got what he wanted through trading under the table with The Reapers, a few guns here, a couple supply trucks there. The Reapers offered him everything he would ever need to live a comfortable, drug fuelled life in exchange for a heavy price.


The Betrayal:

Gunshots echoed inside the walls of The Quays, bodies laid in the roads as The Reapers stormed the compound. They had seized the opportunity Cillian provided when he blew a hole in the south wall, his end of the deal. He walked with The Reapers as they marched towards Fionn’s building, intending to cut off the head of this operation. Few words were spoken as Fionn was brought to his knees, he glared at Cillian through his black, bloody eyes. One gunshot and The Quays had lost their leader. It didn’t take long before Charlie lead the attack on the building with the forces who remained, though they were few in numbers they took out twice as many Reapers. Forced to retreat, The Reapers, along with Cillian made their escape back to the GPO, Cillian locking eyes with Charlie as then distance grew between them.

The Job:

Now as a contractor for The Reapers, Cillian was offered a lucrative job to aid them in the war. The plan was simple, he was tasked with taking a few of their men and a medium sized ship on a voyage to Chernarus to bring back weaponry and explosives to aid the efforts in their war with The Quays. On a cold night, starboard, Cillian smoked a cigarette, looking at the Scandinavian coasts in the distance. Not knowing of the opposing forces aboard. Charlie and a few of his men had snuck aboard after they heard of this plan. The shots rang out as The Quays’ squad ambushed Cillian and his men. A rogue shot hit one of the fuel tanks, Cillian’s eyes widened as the explosion sent him overboard. As the smouldering vessel sank in the distance, Cillians unconscious body was carried by the waves onto the shore. He awoke many hours later, ears still ringing. After coughing up what seemed like buckets of water, Cillian rose to his feet taking in his surroundings. A nervous scratch of the head, a smirk filled with both relief and dread. “Nyheim.”